


D-E-A-…

by Morpheus626



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:28:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25042420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morpheus626/pseuds/Morpheus626
Summary: A story concerning one Mr. John Deacon and his nickname, and the spelling of it, and how he is a mischief-loving little shit.
Comments: 5
Kudos: 27





	D-E-A-…

**Author's Note:**

> An incredibly silly Queen fic, inspired by how there is a lovely bit of confusion and wonder over how to spell John’s nickname. I personally don’t ascribe to any one way being the Golden Way, because as far as I know he’s never said, and I imagine the little shit might just like it that way, and I both respect and enjoy that.

“You don’t remember?” 

“John,” Brian sighed. “I’m writing up a sort of roster-” 

“We know who all will be with us-” 

“I like to be organized, and normally you do as well-” 

“But we know who is on tour with us! There aren’t that many of us,” John continued to protest, even as Brian impatiently tapped the pencil in his hand against the paper in his other. 

“Just. Tell. Me. How. To. Spell. Your. Nickname. Or I swear to God, I’ll write out your whole name on everything, middle name included.” 

“Christ, calm down,” John spat, and then. It hit him. This could be fun, if he did this carefully.

“D-E-A-C-Y.” 

“Thank you!” Brian muttered, stalking off to bother the next person nearby so they could be notated on the upcoming tour roster. “Was that so fucking hard?” 

“Not at all,” John smirked. 

His next opportunity didn’t come until the next day, in the form of Roger. 

“I’m helping label the cases. Apparently there’s a fear we’ll lose all our shit if we don’t start labeling it more; I don’t know about that, but I certainly don’t want to pay for it all if it should go missing, so-” Roger waggled the wheel of yellow packing tape in the air. “I was just gonna put Bass Stuff on yours, but Freddie said that was rather impersonal.” 

“What did you put on yours?” 

“Nothing special.” 

“God’s drumming gift to the world? Roger!” Freddie’s voice echoed down the hall. “Your name would be just fine on these!” 

“I wanted to be accurate!” Roger shouted back. “So, anyway. Full name, nickname, something nice about your musical abilities, what?” 

“Nickname should be fine.” 

Roger stuttered, his marker against the blank tape. “Erm.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Don’t be that way; I don’t mean anything bad by it. Just don’t want to spell it wrong is all.” 

John rolled his eyes till they felt they might roll straight out of his skull. “Fine. D-E-A-K-Y.” 

“Thanks! I’ll draw something pretty by it.” 

“Oh? What have you drawn on everyone else’s?” 

“Just cocks on Freddie and Brian’s crates so far,” Roger said nonchalantly.

“…so it’ll be cocks on mine then as well?” 

“You figured out my theme!” Roger crowed as he walked back down the hall to the equipment crates. 

His next opportunity was even longer away, a week later as they boarded the train to their first destination. 

“Oh, John,” Miami carefully caught his shoulder before he stepped on. “The train staff are being rather…picky. They want name cards up on the trays near your seats, in case any of you wander while they bring out the food.” 

John didn’t blink. “It’s a train.” 

Miami looked at the train he was standing on, as if he’d just noticed it. “So it appears to be.” 

“Where on earth would we wander on a train?” 

Miami shrugged. “Another car? With you lot, can I really say for sure?” 

As if on cue, Roger popped out of one of the car windows, so far out it looked he might just fall. “Hurry the fuck up! Get on before they leave you here!” 

“Get back in the train! Are you a dog hanging out the car window?” Miami scolded.

“Maybe I want to see what they like about it! Maybe we’re all missing out!” Roger called.

“Get in the bloody train!” 

“Ooh ‘get in the bloody train, bleugh. No fun,” Roger mocked, but slipped back inside the train with only a wince as his stomach hit the edge of the window. 

“Anyway,” Miami sighed. “So, what do you want on yours? First name, just the last name, can be whatever you want so long as you don’t change it fifty times in a minute.” 

“Dig at me!” Freddie leaned out of the doorway. “This is supposed to be fun, Miami. Loosen up.” 

“I have written over ten different, increasingly silly, name cards for you. We have been on tour for only an hour, and yet only five minutes worth of my patience remains,” Miami said. 

“That’s a lie,” Freddie said to John with a flick of his wrist. “He’ll be fine.” 

Miami sighed yet again, a deeper sigh, from the bottom of his very soul, as Freddie went back into the car. “John…” 

“Make it easy for you; just put my nickname. D-I-Q-I.” 

Miami frowned, but wrote it. “Have you always spelled it that way? Different from how your actual last name is?” 

John nodded. “A bit of fun, yeah?” 

“Of course,” Miami replied as he led John into the car. “My apologies for not remembering.” 

“No harm done.” 

It was at the venue that he faced his toughest challenge: Freddie. Who made incredible effort to recall each little detail about his band mates and friends, at the very minimum the correct spellings of names and nicknames. But he was ready; he could do this. He’d fooled Miami; he was ready for this now. 

“John, darling; we’ve got a card here for Miami’s birthday. I’ve been trying to get everyone to sign, or at least just admit they forgot it was his birthday in a few days, but-” Freddie shrugged as he paused in the application of his eyeliner. “Now, if you’ve not got time to sign that’s fine, just tell me if you want me to put John or your nickname, or whatever else.” 

There it was. His moment. He wouldn’t get another. “Oh. Just the nickname is fine. D-E-A-C-K-Y.” 

He was sweating bullets, watching Freddie’s face in the mirror. Looking directly at him would destroy the ruse. 

Freddie frowned, clearly puzzled. “Is that it? I could have sworn-” 

“Yes. How I’ve always spelled it.” 

“Really?” There were a good hundred more questions in Freddie’s eyes, but time was short, and he said nothing else as they finished dressing and readying themselves for the concert. 

In the aftermath, on yet another train, he let himself rest. They’d done well, put in a fantastic effort, and he was exhausted. Both from the concert, and from keeping an eye on Freddie after it as they’d packed. 

But he hadn’t brought up the spelling thing even once. His ruse had been successful, and it was a very warm sort of satisfaction that helped lull him to sleep as the train got on its way. 

“Odd question,” Freddie said, breaking the silence as he watched John sleep. “How do we spell John’s nickname? He just told me today again, but it didn’t seem right. And I don’t want to say he doesn’t know how to spell his own name, but…” 

“D-E-A-C-Y,” Brian replied. “Like his last name is, D-E-A-C-O-N.” 

“No, that’s not it,” Miami said. “He told me he specifically does it differently from his last name, for a bit of fun. D-I-Q-I.” 

“Q?” Freddie asked. “No, that’s almost certainly not right.” 

“That’s what he told me!” Miami protested. “Just when we got on the train, in fact.” 

“You’re both wrong,” Roger said. “It’s D-E-A-K-Y. S’what he had me put on all his gear, so that must be right.” 

Freddie’s gentle gaze upon the utterly passed out and now snoring John turned to a hard stare. “He told me D-E-A-C-K-Y, to put on Miami’s birthday card.” 

“You got me a card?” Miami asked softly. 

“Of course we did, your present will be along shortly as well,” Freddie said, waving away the distraction, sweet though it was. “Now, this isn’t funny though. How on earth is it properly spelled? Does anyone remember?” 

Silence filled the car, aside from John’s snoring. 

“I’ve got it written down somewhere at home I’m sure,” Brian murmured. “But that does us no good now.” 

“No shit,” Roger muttered. “But I’m in the same boat. I can’t think of a thing I might have on me now that might prove which one is right.” 

“We’ll ask him,” Miami said. “Soon as he wakes up.” 

“And then what? Have him try and convince us it’s actually D-E-A-C-K-Q-I-Y?” Freddie laughed. 

“Well no one would believe that,” Brian scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.” 

“Is it? Because that’s essentially what he got all of us to believe, just in separate bits and pieces,” Freddie replied. “He played us like fiddles, and he did it, I’d gather, while barely even trying.” 

“…so when his birthday comes round in the next few months, we all agree to spell it as oddly and differently as possible on all his gifts and cards?” Roger asked. 

“Oh, of course,” Freddie agreed, as nods went all round the train car. “Though you know that won’t bother him a whit, right?” 

“Yeah,” Roger admitted. “But how else can we get back at him?” 

“We can’t,” Brian said. “Could you imagine if he kept this up, with everyone, no one knowing one hundred percent for sure which version was right? And you know him, he won’t tell which is the right one if he’s having enough fun keeping everyone confused. Us, fans, everyone on tour, literally anyone he meets and gives his nickname to, even.” 

_And so it was that it did continue, long after that day, that no one person alive or dead or in a coma or any other sort of state of being should be one-hundred-thousand-no-doubts-whatsoever-certain how to spell John’s nickname. And so it shall continue, time immemorial, until the heat death of the universe and all that reside within her. A mystery for the ages._

_Christ, it couldn’t ever really be Diqi though, could it?_


End file.
